


Control

by ABrighterDarkness



Series: OYL Bingo [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Worship, Drawing, M/M, Movie Reference, Muscles, Uniform Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABrighterDarkness/pseuds/ABrighterDarkness
Summary: They’d go hunting down a lead.  Sometimes it was a good one where they could actually do Hydra some damage, but most often bad ones where they chased air.  Steve would avoid looking or speaking to him for awhile.  Until they got back to where ever they happened to be crashing for the duration.  Then Steve would ask to draw him, all hesitant and tentative. Not every time. Not even most Ops ended that way. But frequent enough for a pattern to form.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: OYL Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567447
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64
Collections: On Your Left - SamSteve Bingo





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> On Your Left Bingo - Uniform Kink

Sam landed next to Steve with a small grunt from the impact. Their source had led them to a large stone outcropping overlooking a heavily forested area, and Sam really hoped the intel was sound As far as landings went, it was one of his smoother ones, but it was always a little jarring, no matter how smooth. Looking to his left, Sam saw that Steve had his attention locked on the pair of binoculars pressed to his face and a pinkened tinge to his ears and cheeks. Sam frowned in confusion at the sight for a brief moment before shrugging it off as just one of those  _ Steve things _ .

“Did you see anything?” Steve asked without shifting his attention from whatever he might’ve found through the binoculars. Which wasn’t much of anything since Sam hadn’t seen anything of interest from the sky.

“Not a thing,” Sam answered. “If they’ve got some super secret lair hidden down there then they’re doing a damned good job at hiding. I didn’t even see tire tracks. I mean, Hydra’s good and all that, but I don’t think they’ve solved teleportation. I think this one’s a bust, Steve.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment. Eventually, he sat back upright, the hand holding the binoculars falling loosely into his lap with a poorly concealed sigh of frustrated disappointment. Sam understood it. He did. There were only so many bad leads a man could take before it started really taking a toll. So the disappointment was understandable, as far as he was concerned. 

Not that it wasn’t all sorts of irritating that Steve seemed to refuse to so much as glance in Sam’s direction, let alone speak the entire ride back to the shoddy little motel that they had rented out. It was meant to be only as long as it took to follow this lead, so Sam supposed they’d be on the road again come morning. He hoped the whole silent treatment wouldn’t last that long. Steve might not be the most verbose man Sam had ever met, but they had fallen into a comfortable place where conversation flowed easily and even the silences didn’t usually feel  _ this _ strained.

Other than not finding a Hydra base--that Sam was absolutely sure  _ wasn’t there to find _ \--Sam had no idea what he’d done to earn a cold shoulder. 

When they reached the motel room, both men quickly removed and stored their gear. Still unnerved by the silence, Sam beelined for the bathroom turning the shower on hot and letting the steam heat the small cubby hole room. He tried not to linger on his irritation, to let the hot water wash it away like it did the dust and dirt from hiking through the woods to the outcropping. Steve, of course, had barely broken a sweat. Sam hadn’t been so lucky. 

A short time later, Sam turned off the water feeling marginally calmer and considerably cleaner. He snatched one of the cheap, rough towels from the rack above the toilet and dried half-heartedly before wrapping it snugly around his waist. A shiver managed to work through him when he opened the bathroom door to the considerably cooler air in the main room. 

Sam didn’t bother glancing in the direction of the bed that Steve had claimed when they had arrived. He might have still been a little peeved at the silent treatment. He sure as hell wasn’t about to acknowledge that it still might be active. That in mind, Sam made his way to his go bag, digging out the clean change of clothes and tossing them haphazardly onto his own claimed bed before dropping the bag back onto the floor.

“Hey Sam?” Steve’s voice was hesitant, not something Sam often heard between them anymore. Steve had shed most of his weariness and hesitation over the course of their travels together. Hearing it then caused Sam to pause, frowning slightly.

“Steve?” Sam responded evenly, digging back into his go bag when he realized that he had somehow forgotten to grab socks. How do you forget  _ socks? _

“Can I...draw you?”

The hesitant question drew all of Sam’s thoughts to a halt and he turned to stare at the other man. Steve was sitting on the other bed, already changed from tac gear to comfortable pants and a t-shirt, back against the wall and the familiar sketchbook in his lap with a pencil spinning between his fingers. There was something anxious in his expression, not the usual pre-mission anxiousness but something else that brought a flush over this neck and face. 

Sam stared at him for a moment and arched a brow, “You want to  _ draw me? _ ”

“I-um-Yes? Please?”

Sam frowned and glanced down at himself, surprisingly unselfconscious despite wearing nothing but a cheap towel. “I mean, if that’s what you wanna do, why not?”

“Great,” Steve said with a relieved smile, though not of the anxiety seemed to have left his tone.

“Can I get dressed or is the whole towel thing part of the aesthetic you’re going for,” Sam asked jokingly. His brows furrowed slightly when the flush deepened and Steve dropped his gaze. First, interestingly enough, over Sam’s chest and torso before snapping firmly down to the sketchbook in his lap. Something about the reaction tugged at him and Sam couldn’t help the grin that crawled across his face. He cocked his head to the side and dropped the rolled pair of socks in his hand on top of the pile of clothes. 

His grin shifted into a smirk the longer Steve avoided meeting his eyes and the darker the blush grew. Deciding on a compromise, Sam grabbed his boxers out of the pile and quickly pulled them on under the towel before loosening it and tossing it back through the bathroom door. With a cheeky grin he leapt onto ‘his’ bed and sprawled on his back with his hands behind his head, fingers laced together. “Draw away, Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes went wide when they snapped back to meet Sam’s. Sam watched the blue eyes wander curiously over his form and could almost feel the weight like a touch. Steve swallowed thickly and dropped his gaze back to the sketchbook. Over the following few hours, Sam relaxed into his position and into the way Steve’s gaze seemed to scrape over his exposed body as his pencil etched across the paper in front of him. 

Sam wondered if he should feel more uncomfortable, more self-conscious -if it should be weird sprawling next to naked all because Steve asked to draw him. It was one thing to have grown comfortable enough around one another that various states of undress had just become normal, but there was something undeniably  _ different _ about their current situation. Sam could admit that he’d stolen his own fair share of peeks and even enjoyed the shows that Steve inadvertently gave coming back from running, coming from the showers, changing out of tac gear. But that was different, too, wasn’t it?

Maybe it was odd that it  _ wasn’t _ odd. Surprisingly enough, Sam had no desire to chase down the reasons why it should be or why it wasn’t. He automatically filed that under ‘ _ Steve Things’ _ and didn’t think a whole lot more on it.

Or he  _ didn’t _ ...not until he started noticing a pattern that followed that first time, in that hotel after the bogus intel. They’d go hunting down a lead. Sometimes it was a good one where they could actually do Hydra some damage, but most often bad ones where they chased air. Steve would avoid looking or speaking to him for awhile. Until they got back to where ever they happened to be crashing for the duration. Then Steve would ask to draw him, all hesitant and tentative. Not every time. Not even  _ most  _ Ops ended that way. But frequent enough for a pattern to form. 

Sam didn’t connect the dots the first couple of times. At first, he could admit that it was flattering to have Steve’s avid focus on him the way it was when he set to draw. But then he started seeing the pattern and couldn’t  _ unsee _ it. Nor could he unsee the way that each time, Steve would end up being just a couple inches closer, his blushes a couple shades lighter each time, but his eyes a little more confident when they moved over him.

Sam had a theory. Suffice to say, he  _ really _ wanted to test that theory.

Another month passed and another bad lead, another wasted day that they’d never get back, and another cheap motel room later, he got his chance. He was sprawled again across his claimed bed comfortably in a pair of jogging shorts and little else, this time with Steve sitting directly beside him, eyeing him curiously. Sam knew what came next but waited for the question.

“Hey Sam?”

“Hey Steve,” Sam echoed lazily, a small grin crawling across his face in expectation.

“Can I draw you?”

Sam snorted and rolled his head on his arms crossed against the pillow to give him a pointed stare, “Steve, name one time you’ve asked that I’ve said no.”

Steve’s eyes dropped to his sketchbook again, they way they always seemed to when he was either shy or seemingly trying very hard not to stare. “You haven’t.”

“Exactly,” Sam smirked, pulling his hands out from under his head and spreading his arms as wide as he could without hitting Steve. “So. How do you want me?”

Sam watched with interest as the blush that had slowly become less prevalent following each time Steve had drawn him flare back up hot and bright. Steve cleared his throat and shifted slightly on the bed next to him. “Can...can you? On your stomach? Please?”

That was a first. Though, it was also the first time that Sam had invited Steve’s opinion on positioning. Sam studied him curiously for a moment before lifting up onto his elbows and turning until he lay on his stomach, arms stretched upwards to fold comfortably under the pillow where he rested his head, face turned to be able to see Steve.

Steve’s gaze lingered over his back and shoulders for a long moment before trailing slowly downward towards his waist, the pencil in his hand completely still where it rested against the paper. Sam could watch the way his throat worked as he swallowed thickly and could see when the fingers of his left hand twitched just slightly. 

Eventually, Steve pulled his attention back to the sketchbook and it wasn’t long before Sam was lulled into a light doze at the familiar sound of pencil scratching paper. Every so often the sound would pause for a few moments - Steve would quietly clear his throat and the sound would begin again. 

Sam had almost slipped into sleep properly when he heard Steve clear his throat and felt him shift slightly. “Hey Sam?” He said, hesitation clear in his voice.

“Yeah?” Sam mumbled.

“Can I--” The question dropped off, or more like, was cut off after the first two words.

“Can you what?” Sam prompted with a slight frown, blinking his eyes open. When strained silence followed, he forced his eyes to focus more clearly on the man seated beside him. Steve visibly hesitated again and Sam rolled his eyes. “Just ask your question, Rogers. Already got me laid out like one of your french girls.”

“French girls? What?” Steve frowned, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Movie reference,” Sam shook his head dismissively. “Don’t mind that. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I was just wondering if,” Steve paused and set his pencil down in the crease of the sketchbook. “Just wondering if it’d be alright...If I could touch you?”

Sam stared at him, trying his hardest to keep a neutral expression. Despite his attempts, a slow grin crossed his face with his amusement at the stumbling request. He gave a short laugh and shook his head, dropping his head back into the comfortable position on the pillow over where his hands were tucked. “Sure, Steve. Have at it.”

“You sure?” Steve asked, voice less hesitant but still restrained.

“Yeah, go for it,” he smirked.

“Right,” Steve said under his breath. Sam let his eyes fall closed again and felt the bed shift under Steve’s weight as he readjusted Sam’s position. Sam stiffened slightly at the first touch of two fingers lightly gliding over the top line of his shoulder, but quickly relaxed back into position. The fingers travelled lightly at first. Neck and shoulders; tracing the edges of his shoulder blades and over his deltoid and upper arm on the side nearest. They retraced the lines already travelled and moved over his ribs along the line of his spine. 

Slowly but eventually, Steve’s movements seemed to gain confidence and surety. Two fingers were replaced with warm, broad palms with trailing fingers. Light, almost ghosting pressure traded for firm but gentle movements. From the base of Sam’s skull, neck and shoulders, down to his waist. It felt amazing and Sam was pretty damn sure that he was a couple broad strokes away from  _ purring _ for god’s sake. 

“You’re  _ incredible _ ,” Steve said, though it was spoken quiet enough that Sam was fairly certain that he wasn’t meant to have heard it. Taking it in that vein, Sam didn’t respond, instead carefully shifted to roll onto his back. Steve’s hands froze and started to withdraw and his bright-- _ ridiculously _ \--blue eyes snapped up to meet his. Sam just laced his fingers together behind his head and relaxed into the bed once again.

Steve eyed him cautiously for a moment, clearly unsure of how to interpret Sam’s movement. Swallowing thickly, he reached out, retreating to two fingers once more. Curious fingers drew down the inside of Sam’s forearm where it stuck out from beneath his head, around the points of his elbow and over his inner arm. By the time his fingers ghosted over Sam’s collar bone, Steve’s attention had locked back onto the movements of his hand as though he’d forgotten anything and everything outside of it. 

Sam though? Sam’s attention was locked onto the curious fascination on Steve’s face. The intensity of the stare that was studying him so thoroughly but not the least bit clinically. It was his turn to swallow thickly. Sam couldn’t lie; it had been his theory that there was  _ something _ there. Something more. Something that led to Steve bashfully asking to draw him while seemingly battling the urge to just look. Something that Sam could admit that he wasn’t unaffected by either. 

He had been so intently focused on taking in Steve’s intense focus of  _ him _ that he hadn’t been fully paying attention to the broad palm taking over for fingertips. When the firm strokes registered in his mind, it was a test of will to keep his hands locked behind his head and his eyes open and locked onto Steve’s face. To keep himself from reacting to the touch. That was shot all to hell when Steve’s hand stroked firmly across his left pec and trailing fingers brushed over his nipple. 

Sam had tensed in response and had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to force back the small sound that had threatened to escape. Steve’s eyes snapped up immediately to meet his. Sam was more surprised than he ought to have been at the darkened and dilated eyes. Their gazes held and Steve’s finger repeated the light stroke and Sam hissed a stifled gasp and pressed his head harder into his laced fingers. 

“You know,” Steve started, voice quiet and deep. Thoughtful. “I’ve seen a lot of interesting people and things. Both before the ice and since. But...watching you fly? I’ve tried dozens,  _ hundreds _ , of times to get it right. Drawing you. And...doesn’t matter. I can’t...can’t seem to do you justice. The  _ control _ you have, Sam.” Steve’s free hand joined the one already on Sam’s body, both moving to stroke along his sides, exposed by Sam’s position. “The control you have in flight. In landing. Those  _ wings _ are something else. But goddamnit, Sam, you should  _ see _ yourself.”

“Got a thing for the wings, Steve?” Sam asked, the teasing losing its edge when it came out more breathless than he’d intended.

“Only if you’re the one flyin’ ‘em,” Steve admitted. “I’ve been dying to do this since DC.”

“The drawing or the touching?”

“Both?” Steve shrugged. “But mostly...mostly the touching.”

Sam felt his eyes droop slightly when the hands shifted to glide over his abdomen and up towards his chest again. “So touch away. All yours.”

“All mine huh?” Steve said, tone clearly aiming for casual and not quite managing it.

Forcing his eyes back fully open, Sam cocked his head, “That what you want?”

“I want a lot of things.”

“Don’t go getting shy on me now,” Sam chided. “Got me right here under your hands. Does it look like I’m goin’ anywhere?”

“Sure hope not,” Steve conceded, meeting his gaze again curiously as he swiped both thumbs over nipples simultaneously. 

“So touch away,” Sam invited through a groan.

“S’that mean I can kiss you?” He asked with a quiet levity.

“All yours, Rogers. What d’you think that means?” Sam challenged. 

Steve rolled his eyes in amusement but pulled onto his knees, planting one hand on the bed at Sam’s opposite side while the other stayed braced against his chest, thumb flicking teasingly over his nipple. Perched over him, Steve paused, hesitation clear. Sam huffed a small laugh and pulled one hand out from beneath his head to hook around the back of Steve’s neck, tugging him down.

It was light, almost chaste at first. Just an easy press of lips on lips. Sam used his hold on Steve to tilt his head just so and sank into it. Steve’s mouth parted open over him and Sam eagerly mirrored the movement. And then it was lips and teeth and tongue. Steve licking his way into Sam and Sam chasing the taste of his tongue when it withdrew. And the feeling of Steve’s teeth nipping sharply at his lower lip. And oh. That was. Too much. Not enough.

Sam didn’t try anymore to stifle his own eagerness, easily letting loose the low groan at the nip and diving back into the kiss. His hand tightened at Steve’s neck and he pulled the other out from beneath his head, needing to touch and feel just as much as Steve’s hands had so dedicatedly touched him. His hand slid downward, taking in the feel of the muscle tone of the broad shoulders and chest hovering over him. When his fingers found where the fitted t-shirt met sweatpants, he gripped tightly at the fabric and tugged, pulling his knees upwards as he did.

Thankfully, Steve seemed to understand the cue that Sam couldn’t articulate without breaking from the kiss, which he had no interest in doing. Sam relished in the feel of the muscles shift under his hands as Steve followed the unspoken urging and shifted his body, hips coming to a rest bracketed between Sam’s bent legs and torso stretched out over him. And that, that was  _ good. _ More than good. But not  _ enough _ . Sam tugged again at the shirt in his grip, dropping his hand from Steve’s neck to join the other in pulling the offending fabric up and over Steve’s shoulders, fingers trailing over skin as he went. Steve broke from the kiss and pulled back just enough to help rid himself of the garment.

“Demanding,” Steve grinned, his lips against Sam’s as Sam tossed the shirt somewhere off to the side, settling down on one elbow instead of trying to hold himself up and away with a hand. Which had the added benefit of bringing them closer together, skin brushing over skin.

“You know it,” Sam countered unrepentantly, hands immediately tracing the rolling tension of the muscles of Steve’s back with considerably less hesitation than what Steve had done to his own. He smiled in return when Steve shuddered slightly at the touch and then pressed urgently into another kiss. Sam opened easily into it, hands drifting down his partner’s back. After a brief moment of indecision, Sam followed the bare skin to the waist of Steve’s thin sweatpants, slipping over them to dig his fingertips into the firm muscles of his ass. A tug at Steve’s hips and a pointed roll of his own ground their arousals together, Steve broke the kiss with a heady groan at the friction.

Steve was suddenly shaking his head with a slight grin on his face, he tipped his head back to meet Sam’s eyes, “This isn’t gonna work.”

“It’s not?” Sam frowned in confusion.

“Nope,” Steve said, he leaned back and his fingers hooked into the waistband of Sam’s jogging shorts. He arched a brow in question and Sam lifted his hips in answer. His shorts followed Steve’s t-shirt and Steve’s sweatpants quickly followed. And then Steve’s grin turned smug. Sam tried, and failed, to bite back the startled yelp when suddenly they were flipped and he found himself straddling Steve’s hips and bracing for balance against his chest, completely bare against one another. The other man hadn’t even had to strain to move them and Sam knew he wasn’t a small guy. 

He shot Steve a slight glare that was unfortunately tempered by his exasperated smirk. “Happy now?”

Steve’s hands clamped firmly at his hips and rocked him forward against the roll of his own hips with a cheeky grin. “Absolutely.”

“That’s...that’s fair,” Sam groaned. He went to lean forward, intent on claiming another kiss but Steve’s hands rose to his waist and held him upright all the while continuing the pushing and pulling and rocking. It was maddening but Sam gathered the focus to frown, “What - you’re good when you’re askin’, but now I can’t even get a kiss?”

Steve’s cheeky grin grew and he huffed a strangled laugh,, his hands shifted from Sam’s waist to run heatedly over his torso, cataloging the muscle movements as they rocked together. “If you come down to me, I can’t see this.”

Sam bit down on his lip at the combined feeling of hands, the weight of the heated gaze, and the friction against his cock from the steady way they worked against each other. Steve left one of his hands tracing almost desperately over the straining muscles while the other dropped to take them both in hand, stroking in the same steady motion that they’d already adapted.

“Look at you,” Steve breathed. “Have you ever got to watch yourself up there, Sam? Seen the total control you have? How you seamlessly you move your body in the air? Seeing you with those wings? Total control of yourself? Do you  _ know _ how gorgeous that is to watch, sweetheart?”

Oh he  _ had _ to go with the endearments. Sam groaned and fought down the urge to pick up the pace, to rut into Steve’s fist and rush the finish. That wasn’t what he wanted but the way he was talking. The praise and endearments. If he kept it up it was gonna be over way too soon. But he wasn’t  _ done. _

“Yeah, just like that, huh,” Steve murmured appreciatively on the end of a moan of his own, his hand steadily increasing in speed and fist tightening around them ever so slightly. “So much control. Always wondered what that control looked like. Felt like.”

Sam dug his fingers into the firm muscle of Steve’s chest to ground himself. “And now?” He asked. Had to ask. Had to know before his brain went to mush.

Steve didn’t answer right away. Instead he focused on his hands. On touching Sam. On bringing them both closer and closer. Sam felt the familiar heated coil tightening and fought to keep coherent. “And now?” he prompted again.

“And now,” Steve said with a twist of his hand around them. “And now I really just wanna see you lose it.”

“Oh, oh fuck,” Sam shuddered with a deep groan, spilling over Steve’s hand and abdomen. His muscles tensed and loosened following the waves of his orgasm. It was almost astounding how quickly Steve seemed to follow him over, his free hand gripping tightly at Sam’s hip. Before he could be stopped again, Sam dropped down, bracing himself with shaky hands on either side of Steve’s head and caught his lips in a slow, languid kiss. Steve’s hands came up to curl around his waist, mindful of the mess on his right hand and held him near.

“And now?” Sam asked against his lips before stealing another, lighter kiss.

“And  _ now,” _ Steve smiled, pulling his knees up and tightening his arms, enveloping Sam as much as he was capable. “I want to see it again. And again and again.”

“The flying, the control, or the losing?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“All of it,” Steve answered immediately. “Everything.” His face flushed and his smile dimmed sheepishly, his arms starting to fall loose. “I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” Sam huffed. “All yours, Rogers. All yours.”


End file.
